Page 62 of Knocked Up in Alaska

Chapter Eighteen

“Where’s Lilah?”

Ford turned from starting the industrial-size coffeemaker to find Wing standing on the other side of the bar, next to a pink-and-blue gift bag he’d placed on the scarred wood surface.

“She’s at a doctor’s appointment.” A last-minute doctor’s appointment she’d called and sprung on him that morning, unwittingly throwing a wrench into the speech he’d planned to give her when she arrived for work. The speech he’d spent his sleepless night composing and mentally practicing. “She’ll be here after.” Precisely when the lunch rush would be hitting, thus depriving them of a private moment.

Ford watched Wing’s attention zoom to the center of his chest. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a baby, Wing. Her name is Shayla.”

Wing leaned over the bar until he could find the snuggling infant secured to Ford’s front by what looked like a backpack with arm and leg holes and returned her wide-eyed regard with a goofy look. “I know you’re a baby. Yes, I do,” he went on. “I meant, what is this crazy contraption he’s got you all bound up in?”

“It’s an ergonomic carrier. Trace and Izzy bought it as a shower gift, but she’s just now big enough to use it.”

“Nice.” He eased back to his side of the bar. “What’s it doing strapped on you, man?”

“Lilah brought her over early so Mia could watch her. Then Mia all of the sudden informs me she needs to run to the General Store, so…”

Wing’s brown eyes glinted. “You’re, like, Mr. Mom.”

“Don’t make me fuck you up in front of the child.”

“Ha. I’d like to see you try, but I have to head out. No offense, Mom, but I don’t want to be around when it’s time for you to breastfeed.” Wing leaned over the bar again, stuck his tongue out as if gagging, crossed his eyes. Shayla’s soft voice warbled.

Ford grabbed a bottle of vodka from the shelf behind the bar and smacked it against his palm, testing its potential as a bludgeon. Smacking his palm again, he aimed a hard stare at Wing.

“Easy, there, big momma.”

“I believe you mentioned leaving?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m due at the airfield.” The younger man grinned. “But first, I wanted to drop this off”—he touched the gift bag—“for Lilah. Well, for Shayla, actually.” Reaching in, he pulled out a little off-white cable knit sweater. “What do you think? Did Uncle Wing kill this project or what?” He held it out toward Shayla, then tipped his head and frowned. “Dammit, it’s too big.”

“She’ll grow.”

“True.” He folded the sweater and put it back in the gift bag. “I guess you’re right. I just can’t wait to see her in it. To be honest, I kind of enjoyed making it.” Pushing the bag across the bar, he added, “Maybe I’ll knit Lilah a sweater next.” He wagged his brows. “A tight one.”

All at once, Ford had a genuine urge to use the vodka bottle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on. You may live like a fucking monk, but you’re not dead. Surely, you’ve noticed Lilah’s outstanding, ah…” He held his cupped hands in front of his chest to symbolize breasts. Large breasts. “…attributes. She’s wearing the shit out of those Goose T-shirts while waiting tables. They may have ‘Tipsy Goose’ on ’em, but on her, they’re pure ‘Hooters.’”

Screw that. Ford put the bottle down, rounded the bar, and strode to the pool table. With a cue in one hand, he turned back to Wing. “Those ‘attributes’ are for this baby.” Attributes he’d had pressed against his chest last night. “Not for deviants like you to ogle. If I hear you mention any part of Lilah’s anatomy again, you’re going to find this pool cue shoved up your ass. Got it?”

Wing’s eyes widened. “Christ, Ford. I’m kidding. I love her like family. I would never—” He broke off and dragged a hand through his dark hair. “I’m just saying she looks good is all.” He glanced up at Ford with a glint in his eyes. “Really good.”

Ford swung the cue like a bat. “Get out.”

“Geez.” Wing easily jumped out of striking range and hustled toward the street exit. “It’s not like I’m the only guy who’s noticed.”

Who else? He wanted to yell the question. Who else was eyeing Lilah? “You’re the one in front of me.”

“Some people are so touchy in the morning.” Grinning, he opened the door, then turned. “Must be big momma’s time of the month.”

Ford threw the cue like a javelin at Wing’s smirking face, but the guy simply shut the door, so it bounced harmlessly off the wood and clattered to the floor.

The baby giggled.

He looked down at her, nestled against his chest, then scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m losing my fucking…fuck.” He glanced down again and winced. “My mind, Shayla. I’m losing my mind.”

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